


the arms of the ocean are carrying me (all this devotion was rushing over me)

by fortunatedaughter



Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: F/M, content warning for discussion of bruises & various injuries, pls be careful friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-05 01:38:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11567625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortunatedaughter/pseuds/fortunatedaughter
Summary: No one ever thinks about the bruises.MJ wonders if it’s because everyone’s so enthralled with Spiderman and what he can do – swinging from buildings, crawling across walls, shooting webs from his hands; they’re in such a state of awe, they never thinking about the after. When the bad guys he fights get the upper hand, launching him into buildings, throwing him from roofs, landing a good punch there, an elbow here.No one ever thinks about the bruises, but MJ does.





	the arms of the ocean are carrying me (all this devotion was rushing over me)

**Author's Note:**

> guess who saw homecoming for the third time today? that's right, it me. and i know, i know what you're thinking - tasha. you got a problem. but you know what? i _own_ the fact my sudden obsession with all things tom holland has taken over my life and i wear this badge with **pride.** (plus i was hoping another viewing would help me get a better grasp of michelle's character. i'm starting to get more comfortable in my belief she covers up her emotions with snark and smarts, so i might be sticking with that till we get more info on our badass, tea-drinking, book nerd.)
> 
> title is from never let me go by florence & the machine. all typos and misspells are my own.
> 
> enjoy!

No one ever thinks about the bruises.

MJ wonders if it’s because everyone’s so enthralled with Spiderman and what he can do – swinging from buildings, crawling across walls, shooting webs from his hands; they’re in such a state of awe, they never thinking about the after. When the bad guys he fights get the upper hand, launching him into buildings, throwing him from roofs, landing a good punch there, an elbow here.

No one ever thinks about the bruises, but MJ does.

-

The first time she thinks about them, she’s in the grabbing takeout for the night. Her Mom has the night shift for the next month so she’s own her own for meals. And, yeah, okay, MJ could probably attempt cooking something; she’s got the goods at home for it, but after spending double history battling it out with her teacher about the goddamn Russian civil war and Lenin’s implementation of war communism – she really isn’t in the mood to stand in front of the stove and heat up soup.

So. Here she is. Biding her time till her numbers called and she can go home to her couch and her books. Her eyes drift to the tiny little TV, where a live feed is being broadcast of –

– _Spiderman_. Fucking **wizard**.

(She doesn’t take her eyes off of him, of course, watching as he swoops in, clashes through the glass windows of the bank branch, and – shit. That has to hurt. She isn’t sure what his suit is made of, but he has to feel that, right? It has to hurt, at the very least.)

The footage turns murky and anxiety creeps up her spine. No – Peter can take care of himself. He doesn’t get recruited by goddamn Iron Man without having some form of potential.

A blur of red and blue flies across the scene, Spiderman crashing back into a police car. For a brief moment, MJ blacks out. When she comes too, she sees it all in her head. (The ugly black and blue bruises that will probably splotch across his back by the end of the night. How Peter will wince all through chemistry tomorrow, sit in the back in English because that’s where the old chairs with the soft backs are.)

MJ clenches her jaw, physically forces her gaze from the swinging form of her best friend. No one ever thinks about the bruises, but MJ does.

-

The second time she thinks about them – she’s literally forced to confront the fact he’s a masked vigilante, swinging through Queens, getting thrown from buildings and swinging at god knows what speed and doing generally dangerous shit. She’s faced with the evidence that while this borough is safe for her – it’s only that way because Peter’s out there.

-

Her bag thunks down in the threshold of his bedroom. He’s shirtless – flinching, wincing as he attempts to pick a jumper off his floor and. And she aches. That’s Peter. Sweet, helpless, stupid Peter. Who still gets excited about the original Star Wars movies. Who loses his train of thought when she smiles at him. Who once refused to let a bad man die, for the sole fact he was somebodies _Dad_. “ **Jesus Christ** , Peter.” She mutters, eyes caught on the injuries that mottle his person. ( **Fuck**. She’s seen professional athletes, post-fight, that look better than him.)

He startled, jumping slightly, before wincing, hissing out at the sudden movement. “Shit – what - what are you doing here?”

MJ’s eyes never leave his chest, caught on a nasty bruise that blooms across his ribcage. How did he get that? Was it from the bank robbery she saw on TV two weeks ago? Something else? Her mind whirrs with the possibilities – the next one more horrific and panic inducing than the last.

She swallows past the lump in her throat. “We had an English project to work on.”

“So you just _walked_ in – into my **house**?”

Her lips purse, but she doesn’t meet his eyes. (Can’t. If she does, he might just see the depth of the feelings she has for him – how she worries for his stupid, moronic ass, to the point it leaves a lump in her throat and unshed tears sting her eyes.) “You really should find a more original place for your spare key.”

“Wha – “

MJ shook her head. “Lemme see.”

“See what?”

“Don’t play dumb.” She shot him a look. “It’s wholly unattractive on you.”

Wisely, Peter didn’t say anything. He merely stood stock still, watching as MJ ventured further into his bedroom. (And the thing is, he’s seen a lot of looks on her. He’s seen her mad (like that time her water bottle ruined her copy of The Fires of Autumn), he’s seen her passionate (usually when she’s debating with Mr Maguire in history class), he’s seen her happy (when he actually remembered to bring her birthday present to school that morning, sliding it into her locker during his free and seeing her open it at lunch), he’s seen her bored (usually when they have PE).

But he’s never seen her like this.

To Peter, she seems almost – hesitant. Afraid, even. Two words he’s never, ever, associated with MJ.

MJ inhaled sharply and before she knew it, she was closer to Peter than she’d ever been before; invading his personal space, faced up front with the reality of what he does every day after school and sometimes nights, when Ned and her force him into socialising.

Her tongue darts out, wetting her bottom lip. Her hand reaches up, one fingertip tracing over the colour that blooms across his shoulder. But it isn’t bright blue with splotches of purple, rather faded green, with hints of yellow and she has to swallow again. “Was – was this Vulture?”

For a moment, Peter doesn’t answer. He merely stares at the curve of her jaw, feels her warm breath coast over his chest, smells the soft hints of her pink grapefruit perfume. “Some of it.”

MJ exhaled roughly, and her fingertips danced down his ribcage. (God, this is a bad idea. This is wholly too intimate for the two of them – she can’t even admit that he’s her best friend and yet there she stands, touching him as if they’re dating and she can do that. But – he’s not stopping her, either.) “Here?”

Peter sighed, shaking his head. “Guys tried to kidnap this kid. Got an elbow for my trouble.”

She trailed her hand to his sternum, lightly pressing down. This one was different – it was yellow, faded to the point it nearly blended seamlessly into his own skin tone.

He hears her unspoken question. (He always hears her.)

“Mugging. Last month.”

Her hand trips over the soft definition of his pec, smoothing over the angry blue and purple bruise on his opposite shoulder. (This one looks bad – recent, too, if she remembers her bio classes properly. Bruises spread own the body in direction of gravity, right?)

“Ah, butt of a gun to my shoulder. Two hours ago.”

“ **Jesus** , Peter.”

Three little words – two hours ago – and the floodgates seem to burst open. Her eyes sting with unshed tears and she looks at him – hating his damn saviour complex, his damn need to protect everyone puts him in this position. Hurts him, like this. (How interesting, to love and hate such a thing. Loves, because that’s what makes Peter, Peter. Hates, because there’s going to come a day when he’s still healing and he’s not quick enough and – a lump forms in her throat and she can’t finish the thought.)

“Hey – Hey, I’m okay.” His good arm wraps around her back, pulling her in.

Her hands press against the small of his back and his skin is warm and smooth, more of a comfort than she thought it could be. But she can still see the bruise on his shoulder, - the physical reminder that people are assholes and she hates them all.

MJ shook her head, eyes screwing shut. “You can’t tell me this is okay. You look like you just went ten rounds with a goddamn demon and only survived because he took pity on your ass.”

“MJ.” Peter huffed, pulling back slightly to look her in the eyes. (She hates when he does that – only with him does she feel like all her walls are stripped back, secrets laid bare for him to see.) “Michelle. Spiderman is who I am. This comes with the territory.”

She sniffed, rolling her eyes. “Couldn’t you just – you know. Go back to helping old ladies cross the street? Churros seem a lot nicer than so many bruises.”

He laughs – bright and happy and MJ kind of wants to bottle the sound up so she can listen to it whenever she wants. (Either that, or she’s just gonna have to spend the rest of her life trying to make him laugh.)

She sobers, just as he does. “You’re my best friend. Okay? And I haven’t had a lot of those, so I’m probably gonna suck at it but, you’re my best friend and while I get that this something that you have to do, for whatever fucked reason –“ MJ inhaled sharply. “Just. Be careful.”

And because it’s just a fraction too deep, and they’re already pressed against each other, still half-hugging, MJ sniffed. “There’s only so much concealer I can bring to school and put on you before people start to think you’re in Fight Club or something.”

“Well – I mean, _technically_ –“

“Shut the fuck up. Don’t even finish that sentence, Parker.”

And he smiles at her and she smiles back and – everything seems okay. The world spins on. His bruises will fade. Her worry won’t but it’s okay. The world spins on. Spiderman lives to fight another day.

“Hey MJ?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re my best friend too.”

A smirk curves the edge of her mouth. “Course I am. I’m _awesome_.”

**Author's Note:**

> see if you can peep that raven reyes from the 100 shoutout. *eyes emoji*
> 
> in other news, i'm always over on [twitter](https://twitter.com/mjjones__) if you wanna see me passively aggressively tweet about my fics & have a bisexual crisis over zendaya & tom.


End file.
